Forgiveness -- Fiction; Guilt -- Fiction; Love -- Fiction
"So this is the last time that we go to bed in this house," said the
mother. They were all fatigued with work and excitement, and yet none
of them cared to go to bed. At last, however, they could not help doing
so, although they all slept but little.
The next morning, they were up and about at an early hour.
Having attired themselves in their best clothes, they bundled up the
beds and carried them into the boat. The mother kindled the last fire
on the hearth. The cows were led out and put into the boat, the
chickens were also taken along in a coop, and the dog was constantly
running to and fro.
The hour of parting had come.
The mother uttered a prayer and then called all of them into the
kitchen. She scooped up some water from the pail and poured it into the
fire, with these words: "May all that's evil be thus poured out and
extinguished, and let those who light a fire after us, find nothing but
health in their home."
Hansei, Walpurga and Gundel were, each of them, obliged to pour a
ladleful of water into the fire, and the grandmother guided the child's
hand, while it did the same thing.
After they had all silently performed this ceremony, the grandmother
prayed aloud:
"Take from us, O Lord our God! all heartache and homesickness and all
trouble, and grant us health and a happy home where we next kindle our
fire."
She was the first to cross the threshold. She had the child in her arms
and covered its eyes with her hands, while she called out to the
others:
"Don't look back when you go out."
"Just wait a moment," said Hansei to Walpurga, when he found himself
alone with her. "Before we cross this threshold for the last time, I've
something to tell you. I must tell it. I mean to be a righteous man and
to keep nothing concealed from you. I must tell you this, Walpurga.
While you were away and Black Esther lived up yonder, I once came very
near being wicked and unfaithful--thank God, I wasn't. But it torments
me to think that I ever wanted to be bad; and now, Walpurga, forgive
me, and God will forgive me too. Now I've told you and have nothing
more to tell. If I were to appear before God this moment, I'd know of
nothing more."
Walpurga embraced him and, sobbing, said: "You're my dear, good
husband," and they crossed the threshold for the last time.
When they reached the garden, Hansei paused, looked up at the
cherry-tree, and said:
"And so you remain here. Won't you come with us? We've always been good
friends and spent many an hour together. But wait! I'll take you with
me, for all," cried he, joyfully, "and I'll plant you in my new home."
He carefully dug out a shoot that was sprouting up from one of the
roots of the tree. He stuck it in his hatband and went down to join his
wife at the boat.
From the landing-place on the bank, were heard the merry sounds of
fiddles, clarionets and trumpets.
CHAPTER XIII.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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